Dry throat from dry air. Cracked leather, Callused fingers, maple handle, steel barrel. Three-day stubble on his face weathered face. Eyes are slits, mouth is gnarled. Tobacco juice drips slightly as he spits. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. A horse lies dying and a man lies screaming, “Save me. I [...]
In college, I learned nothing
except humility, which I never
considered to be necessary.
I flunked an engineering mechanics
course twice and understood the
therapeutic properties of sifted
garden dirt and the premise that
all forces could act in all dimensions
if a professor willed them to.
The silence at the end of the corridor
was a vector quantity; it knew what
it wanted. I remembered [...]
Can’t get a cab
to save my life.
They fly by in
a blur of yellow.
I ask a cop,
what’s a good place
to nab a ride.
He shrugs his shoulders.
I don’t bother
to thank him.
It’s cold.
My bones ache.
Feet too
from all this walking.
Plus I’m buffeted,
shoved from all sides.
There’s too many people,
too many places to be,
and not enough
ways of going.
Another cab sails by,
almost [...]
Nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon
than wash the car.
Suds take to metal like cats to blood.
The smoothest action I know
is my hands lathering the windows.
A stray dog growls his inquiry.
I’m bathing a lovely woman if you must know.
That’s not chrome, it’s skin.
Those aren’t headlights, they’re breasts.
I even peek under the hood, open the [...]
i found
a digital
camera
at the
play
ground
there were
nine hun
dred
saved pic
tures on it
a man and
woman
holding
hands on
the beach
a wedding
a honey
moon a
young girl
with pig
tails a
lifetime
of mem
ories i
went through
one by one
deleting
every photo
like death
eating
their mad
ly in love
with life
About the Author
Wolfgang Carstens
Wolfgang Carstens lives in Canada with his wife, five children, two cats and a dog. His poetry is printed upon the backs of [...]
outside my window
the neighbor’s
cutting his grass,
the guy
across the street
is hosing down
his driveway
and there’s a kid
going up and down the block
hanging flyers
on mailboxes.
that’s just
the kind of day it is…
nothing
out of the ordinary.
nothing
memorable.
just like
this
poem.
but, it all
still needs
to be done.
the flyers,
the driveway,
the grass,
and,
most especially,
this poem.
i’m pretty sure
that’s the way
it works.
About the Author
John Yamrus
John Yamrus has been a fixture [...]
love hearts
etched into the bark
of our childhood oak
recumbent seat for lovers
and climbing frame for children
the wind has no luck
with our sturdy roots.
About the Author
Daryl Baldwin
Daryl lives in Gloucester, England. He is married and has three children and one dog. He works in a local company making products for aircraft and other vehicles. In his spare [...]
Coastal warm breeze
off Santa Monica, California
the sun turns salt
shakers upside down
and it rains white smog, humid mist.
No thunder, no lightening,
nothing else to do
except sashay
forward into liquid
and swim
into eternal days
like this.
About the Author
Michael Lee Johnson
Michael Lee Johnson is a poet and freelance writer from Itasca, Illinois. His new poetry chapbook with pictures, titled From Which Place [...]
irresistible women vehemently reject her
inadequate, she screws overweight reprobates
insolent drug dealers progeny her face
strung-out, she croaks and thrashes
doctors vowelize no surgery time again
dejected, she stabs malnourished skin
family members identify a failed investment
capricious, she squats seedy hollowed-outs
she always used to tell me
now that we weren’t together
i couldn’t tell her what to do
i stand here now, holding [...]
Sunday afternoon in a new cafe there are no other customers. Soon a group of five comes in with a swish of wind. Not the usual snatches of café talk- school, jobs, children, love, today’s news- the menu of daily lives. This group speaks of “channeling” through to the other side, communicating with a deceased [...]
